


Eternal Galaxies

by sofancydancy (Lthien)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Geralt really messed up, Jaskier flees the mountain in the dead of night, Jaskier is sad, Jaskier may or may not be linked to the fae, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, More tags to be added, ancient creatures, because he's jaskier, jaskier loves geralt, jaskier wants to hate geralt, many mentions of the dark and cold, shoddy attempts at poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lthien/pseuds/sofancydancy
Summary: Jaskier tread on, pushing himself forward even when his legs could barely hold him steady anymore from the bite of the wind and cold. All he knew was that once rid of the mountain, he could breathe again. Or, at least that’s what he had hoped. Instead, in the deepest pitch of night, he heard a voice. One that reached far past the peaks that surrounded him and reached his ears despite the blustering wind.It was a melody, a lullaby:Beloved one, so cold and blue,Come rest thy head upon’st mine shoulder,Close thine eyes, I sing anew,Art thou still mine, I wonder?Jaskier felt his blood flash with icy fear, bound to wander aimlessly in pitch with the voice only getting closer with each solemn verse it gave him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	Eternal Galaxies

When Jaskier left Geralt, he had all intentions of leaving the damned mountain altogether. His heart was wedged in his throat and his eyes burned with tears. He refused to let them fall though, knowing that Geralt would probably _smell_ them and only pity him more. Jaskier was finished with pity. He was _finished_ with the cruelties of a witcher, whom he’d followed for twenty years only to be thrown out like _garbage._ So, he didn’t follow the others like he had told Geralt. No. Instead, he decided that he would rather face the wrath of the mountain alone than run into the witcher again.

It was dark, cold, and Jaskier was frightened. He shivered sharply, his body long frozen. But his feet didn’t stop moving, even when dusk turned into the pitch of night. He knew that if he stopped then his tears would start and he would be useless then. When sight was all for naught, he felt blindly with his hands, careful with his steps despite knowing he was far from any ledge. It was the fear of beasts and monsters that held him steady, and kept his ears sharp.

He _hated_ Geralt.

But he didn’t. In truth, he loved him with his whole being. It was that love that he hated—hated himself for it. He loved too freely, and rarely was his favor returned. That used to not bother him. He was happy to be the love for an hour, day, or month, even. Then he saw Geralt. The moment he saw him sitting alone in that pub so long ago, Jaskier felt his soul cling to him.

He had sold it to him before even talking to him.

That’s why he hated himself. This love was to be his bane and never shared with the one who owned his soul.

So, Jaskier tread on, pushing himself forward even when his legs could barely hold him steady anymore from the bite of the wind and cold. All he knew was that once rid of the mountain, he could breathe again. Or, at least that’s what he had hoped. Instead, in the deepest pitch of night, he heard a voice. One that reached far past the peaks that surrounded him and reached his ears despite the blustering wind.

It was a melody, a lullaby.

_Beloved one, so cold and blue,_

_Come rest thy head upon’st mine shoulder,_

_Close thine eyes, I sing anew,_

_Art thou still mine, I wonder?_

Jaskier felt his blood flash with icy fear, bound to wander aimlessly in pitch with the voice only getting _closer_ with each solemn verse it gave him.

“Who is there?” The bard called despite his deep fear, his hands out in front of him and trembling fingers spread wide. The tears in his eyes felt liken to ice crystals as he batted his eyes rapidly, as if that would help see in such bleakness.

_A voice beloved by mine own,_

_I shall cradle thou in’st mine arms,_

_Lark, beloved by heavn’ly throne,_

_Shall I take thou from all harms?_

Jaskier wanted to scream when he felt fingers touch his cheek, but nothing came. His mouth hung agape, liken to that of a fish. The touch that held him was colder than the ice all around him. He fell to his knees, held upright by the two fingers curled beneath his chin.

He couldn’t see them, whatever creature that had come to eat him. Their touch felt like poison, flowing through his aching bones, ice fighting ice until he felt nothing at all. Nothing but the gentle fingers upon his skin.

He felt…calm. His tears were no longer ice and flowed freely. He cursed himself, nowhere near being rid of the mountain. No, he was going to be eaten and Geralt would probably find his mangled corpse and smell the dried salt of his tears. The witcher would know that he died pitifully and pity him.

_Pity._

The fingers twitched beneath his chin, almost in response to the hot hate that rushed through his soul. Not _almost,_ they did. Jaskier blinked and his blue eyes met the milky-hue of the creature's. They held an entire galaxy in them, twinkling with the unknown. Jaskier knew then. Knew that there would be no corpse for Geralt to stumble upon, because this creature was sure to eat him whole. Jaskier saw only eyes, but knew in his soul that whatever held him was much older than anything he had seen, touched, or knew. A being of the old world, maybe beyond the time of elves.

“Will you eat me, my lady,” Jaskier found himself asking, his voice the smallest it had ever been in his life. He did not know why he assumed its gender, but it felt right in his soul. His voice held no fear, despite recognizing his sure doom. The galaxy slowly blinked, curious.

_Thou wish to be free,_

_The lark latched to silver and steel,_

_From thine pain and human faulty?_

Jaskier felt the fingers slide across his chill-pebbled skin, down his thrumming pulse, and to his calm heart. He felt a palm rest there, long, cold, fingers spread wide.

_From the one whom’st owns thine will?_

“ _Yes,”_ Jaskier nearly cried, his tears blinding him and bringing him back into ebony. His soul wept, the fingers upon his chest twitching and curling. The palm pressed harder then and Jaskier felt his soul _lurch._ He screamed in searing pain, all the love he held for his witcher pulled forward for all the world to see. All his songs, his tears, fears and hopes shredded before his very being. He pitched forward onto the dusty earth, the galaxy no longer there to eat or sing to him. He felt as if there were a hole in his chest, and perhaps there was. He lost himself in the tears that sunk into the dust, his breath rustling it as he finally lost consciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, Geralt really messed up in 1x06 and I wanted more whump because I'm a psycho, so I made this. & Jaskier may or may not have accidentally sold his soul to the fae when he was a kid, and they may or may not be extremely protective over their little lark.


End file.
